


Chicken Soup

by travellinghopefully



Series: Jamie and Malcolm [5]
Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-20 03:50:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4772426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/travellinghopefully/pseuds/travellinghopefully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>fic request - fluffy sickfic - had a request for one with an explosion, but that is going to have to wait for a bit</p>
<p>Malcolm looks after Jamie</p>
<p>rated Mature for language and a couple of other bits</p>
<p>just the hint of smut</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chicken Soup

**Author's Note:**

> Quotes from Trainspotting, The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists and A Tale of Two Cities - it was an interesting exercise to think what Malcolm might have on his Kindle.

Jamie woke up nestled against Malcolm’s neck, one arm thrown over his chest, their legs tangled.

He breathed in and a band of tightness clamped down. Jamie rolled over and curled into a ball. He coughed so hard he feared for his ribs. 

He felt Malcolm get out of bed. He pulled the duvet over his head and willed himself back to sleep. It wasn’t working. He was drowning in snot, everything ached. He covered his eyes with his arm, swearing at Malcolm’s ability to go from coma to Duracell bunny with no apparent transition. Did he have to turn the fucking lights on?  
He could hear the shower, he could hear Malcolm singing. Malcolm denied he sang. Fuck even the sound of the shower was too loud.

Jamie put the other pillow over his head. 

Malcolm came back into the room. He heard the wardrobe open. He struggled to sit up and slide out of bed.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Malcolm swivelled round and stared at him.

Jamie would have said work, but when he drew in breath to speak, he started coughing again.

Malcolm walked back towards the bed, poked Jamie in the chest and then pulled the duvet up and round him.

“You, are staying in bed. There’s nothing important enough that you need to drag your sorry sick carcass in for.” 

So fucking thoughtful, so fucking tender. Cunt.

Jamie listened to Malcolm clattering down the stairs, already the sounds of shouting, the front door slam. 

Would it have hurt him to leave him a mug of fucking tea? At least he hadn’t expected him to go into work. He should be thankful for small mercies. He tried not to pout when he realised Malcolm hadn’t kissed him either good morning or good bye. Fuck, he was definitely ill, he was getting sentimental.

He heard feet on the stairs. What the fuck? A knock on the door.

An older man stuck his head round the door. Jamie was thankful he didn’t have his hand on his cock.

“I'm Dr. Smith. Mr Tucker has quite a...er....forceful personality. He was extremely insistent that I visit you.” The doctor appeared positively scared.

“If you could just outline your symptoms for me whilst I check you over.” In between coughing and explaining, the doctor listened to Jamie’s chest, took his blood pressure, looked in his ears and eyes and stuck the inevitable tongue depressor in his mouth to stare at the back of his throat.

The doctor made several tutting noises.

“Well you definitely have bronchitis, but I am fairly certain you also have ‘flu. I have a course of zanamivir and for the bronchitis I am afraid the best course of treatment is painkillers, plenty of fluids, rest and absolutely no work, for at least a week.”

Before he left, the doctor handed him back the door key.

Jamie swallowed the proffered tablets with a swig of water, eyes watering from another paroxysm of coughing.

He slumped back against the pillows and fell into a fitful sleep.

Something woke him. Fuck. Had the cunting doctor not shut the fucking door properly when he left?

Jamie groped behind the bedroom door and grabbed the random golf club that lurked there. Bracing himself against the door frame, he staggered forward and then lurched his way down the stairs. 

He brandished the club above his head, ready to bring it down on the expected burglar.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

Malcolm turned round, brandishing a very sharp knife. Taking in Jamie’s dishevelled appearance, the raised golf club. He carefully reached out and lowered Jamie’s arm.

"Where did you think I would fucking be?"

"You went to work!"

"I didn’t go to fucking work. I went to get you a doctor, and get some shopping. And what fucking burglar cooks?"

"I can’t smell a fucking thing" 

– but Jamie could see the pans, the chopping board, the frying pan, the steam, the oven turned on. Let it be chicken soup.

The phone rang – Malcolm looked at it with supreme irritation, as if by force of will it would curl up and die and stop ringing – it didn’t. He answered it.

"No, I am not fucking coming in....... Haud yer wheest...... None of your fucking business where I am, or what I’m doing....... Ni’cla had two days off for the death of her daughter’s hamster – if I take a day off you can be certain that its for something considerably more significant.........No, I don’t have to fucking tell you fucking useless cunt, HR knows where I am, and what I’m doing..... I’m owed 18 months leave, if you don’t like it, you can rip off your own cock, and stuff it down your own throat – now fucking fuck off." 

With that, Malcolm, ended the call.

Malcolm stepped up to Jamie, took him in his arms, and kissed him, until once again Jamie found himself bent double with coughing.

The phone rang again.

"Fuck off. What the fuck do you want?........ I spoke to Tim, why do I have to speak to you?....... So what if I was fucking rude to Baldycock?..... He isn’t my boss, you're not my fucking boss. I don’t have to account for myself to him or you. Just fuck off. If you want to take it as holiday that’s fine, if you don’t want to pay me, I’d seriously like to see you fucking try...... Fuck off, seriously, fuck off....... If you phone me again, I’m logging it as harassment – now fuck, the fuck off – I’m with family and I seriously don’t need any cunt disturbing us."

As Malcolm ended the call, Jamie pulled him into his arms and kissed him, running his hands through his hair, moaning gently into his mouth. 

Family. He really was getting fucking sentimental.

Malcolm pushed him away and smiled.

"Ye better not be fucking infectious ye fucking cunt."

Malcolm paused.

"Ye’r fucking soaked." 

He put a hand on Jamie’s forehead. "I’ll run you a bath, then change into these." Malcolm rummaged in a pile of carrier bags and handed him some new, kitten soft, cotton plaid pjs. 

Before following Jamie up the stairs he added stock to one of the pans, turned off others, and basted the chicken in the oven. He turned back again, shrugged and added a slug of brandy to one of the pans.

"What did the doctor have to say? I thought he was as much use as a toblerone toast rack but he was the best I could do at short notice. Do you want me to get another opinion?"

Jamie shook his head.

Malcolm knelt by the side of the bath, washed Jamie’s hair, carefully soaped his back and urged him out of the water when he judged it was too cold. He enveloped him in huge fluffy bath towels and rubbed him so briskly he thought his skin would fall off. He paused and rested his head against Jamie’s throat and trailed a path of kisses downward. Jamie couldn’t suppress the coughing.

“Get changed and back to bed with you.” Malcolm thrust the pjs at him. Jamie pulled him back into his arms and held him ‘til he started coughing again.

Malcolm had changed into a fleece and jeans. He put a bottle of lucozade on the bedside table, a glass and checked the meds the doctor had left. He settled down on the bed, opened Jamie’s top and carefully rubbed Vick’s over his chest.

Jamie took his hand and stopped him.

"Seriously?"

"Granny swore by it – and if you can’t smell anything its not a problem."

"Its cold and I'm fucking ticklish."

Malcolm leaned in closer and kissed him, continuing to rub in small circles, chuckling every time he caused Jamie to squirm.

"There, that wasn’t so bad. Get some sleep and I’ll wake you when the soup is done."

Sometime later Malcolm kissed him awake. A tray laden with fruit, soup, sandwiches rested on the table. Fucking fruit. The fucker had probably made the mayonnaise from scratch, Jamie laughed to himself.

“What do you want? A movie? Cartoons?”

“Fuck off!"

Considering. Could he ask, should he?

"Read to me. Please?” Jamie’s eyes hurt too much to even keep them open, but even if they didn’t, there was nothing more soothing than the sound of Malcolm’s voice.

"I’ll read, if you’ll eat."

Jamie selected the bowl of soup. He couldn’t taste it properly, but it was hot and savoury and exactly what he needed.

Malcolm settled down behind him, allowing him to lean against him and turned on his Kindle.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“The sweat wis lashing oafay Sick Boy; he wis trembling. Ah wis jist sitting thair, focusing oan the telly, tryin no tae notice the cunt. He wis bringing me doon. Ah tried tae keep ma attention oan the Jean–Claude Van Damme video.

As happens in such movies, they started oaf wi an obligatory dramatic opening. Then the next phase ay the picture involved building up the tension through introducing the dastardly villain and sticking the weak plot thegither. Any minute now though, auld Jean–Claude's ready tae git doon tae some serious swedgin. 

– Rents. Ah've goat tae see Mother Superior, Sick Boy gasped, shaking his heid. 

\- Aw, ah sais. Ah wanted the radge tae jist fuck off ootay ma visage...”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jamie coughed and spluttered round a mouthful of soup.

“Not fucking Trainspotting!” 

Malcolm lifted the bowl and spoon out of Jamie’s hands and set them to one side.

Malcolm’s hand cupped Jamie’s face, his thumb brushing gently over his cheek, his mouth touched Jamie’s, he sucked lightly on his bottom lip, sliding his tongue into his mouth, softly teasing, gently caressing.

Malcolm wrapped his free arm more securely around Jamie and kissed the side of his throat, running his nose up to nuzzle just beneath his ear, and began reading from another selection on his Kindle. Jamie tried not to protest too much.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The house was named 'The Cave'. It was a large old-fashioned three-storied building standing in about an acre of ground, and situated about a mile outside the town of Mugsborough. It stood back nearly two hundred yards from the main road and was reached by means of a by-road or lane, on each side of which was a hedge formed of hawthorn trees and blackberry bushes. This house had been unoccupied for many years and it was now being altered and renovated for its new owner by the firm of Rushton & Co., Builders and Decorators.  
There were, altogether, about twenty-five men working there, carpenters, plumbers, plasterers, bricklayers and painters, besides several unskilled labourers. New floors were being put in where the old ones were decayed, and upstairs two of the rooms were being made into one by demolishing the parting wall and substituting an iron girder. Some of the window frames and sashes were so rotten that they were being replaced. Some of the ceilings and walls were so cracked and broken that they had to be replastered. Openings were cut through walls and doors were being put where no doors had been before. Old broken chimney pots were being taken down and new ones were being taken up and fixed in their places. All the old whitewash had to be washed off the ceilings and all the old paper had to be scraped off the walls preparatory to the house being repainted and decorated. The air was full of the sounds of hammering and sawing, the ringing of trowels, the rattle of pails, the splashing of water brushes, and the scraping of the stripping knives used by those who were removing the old wallpaper. Besides being full of these the air was heavily laden with dust and disease germs, powdered mortar, lime, plaster, and the dirt that had been accumulating within the old house for years. In brief, those employed there might be said to be living in a Tariff Reform Paradise--they had Plenty of Work.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Not the Ragged Trousered Philanthropists you fucking auld, red cunt."

Malcolm chuckled against Jamie’s ear.

"I’ll get you to fucking read it yet."

He didn’t return to reading for some time. He sucked Jamie’s ear lobe gently between his teeth, kissed and sucked against the spot just beneath his ear, gently licking against the spot and then softly biting, until Jamie couldn’t keep still. 

Malcolm slid his hands down Jamie, coming to rest on his hips. He moved one hand over the soft cotton of the pyjamas gently caressing Jamie’s arousal. Jamie couldn’t restrain the thrust of his hips against Malcolm’s hand.

Then he started reading again. Fucking, fucking, fucker.

Jamie may have whimpered, and he might have felt Malcolm’s lips smile against him, another soft kiss and then he slumped back completely, listening to the cadence of his lover’s voice, the rise and fall, the rolling of the “rs” the soothing burr.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way--in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.  
There were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a plain face, on the throne of England; there were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a fair face, on the throne of France. In both countries it was clearer than crystal to the lords of the State preserves of loaves and fishes, that things in general were settled for ever.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jamie wasn’t sure when he fell asleep, but he was warm and secure and surrounded by Malcolm. 

At some point, he really needed to download something different to the Kindle.


End file.
